


just a touch away

by xylodemon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon has never liked Snow, has always thought he was too sour and sullen for his own good, too concerned with what passes for honor among bastards, but Snow has strong hands and a pretty mouth, and it would be a waste for him to run off to the Wall before he's had a chance to put his cock somewhere warmer than his own fist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a touch away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile)[**asoiafkinkmeme**](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/) and the prompt _Jon/Theon, Theon doesn't really like Jon, but he doesn't think Jon should go to the Wall a virgin, either._

Theon learns it from one of the serving wenches, a skinny, dark-haired girl he has fucked three or four times, perhaps more. Her name is Derla or Dena, and he spots her as he crosses the yard, standing in the doorway to the Great Keep, watching Robb and Snow spar with her arm looped through a friend's, a scullery girl with wide hips and russet curls who Theon has not fucked, not for a lack of trying. He rarely listens to servant prattle, has never cared who sleeps naked or asks for extra spices in their wine, but something in the curve of Derla's mouth makes him slow as he passes them; she tilts her head toward the other girl's, her eyes wide and bright as her voice drops to a whisper.

"Did you hear Lord Eddard's bastard has decided to take the black? A bit of a waste, if you ask me -- he's such a handsome little thing."

Theon considers this news as he heads inside, decides he isn't all that surprised. The Night's Watch is the midden heap of the realm, fit only for rapers and poachers and thieves, but Lord Stark is taking half his household south in a matter of days, and Snow will have to go somewhere. Lady Stark's hatred runs too deep, is badly concealed on her best days; Snow will have no place at Winterfell once his father disappears down the Kingsroad, will not be welcome no matter how much Robb loves him.

He forgets the matter until supper, when he finds himself watching Snow eat. Lady Stark is upstairs with Bran, so Snow is at the high table, seated between Robb and Arya; Derla smiles brightly as she lays a trencher in front of him, lets her small breasts brush against the curve of his shoulder, and the hopelessly uncomfortable look on Snow's face is enough to make Theon snort into his wine. He has never liked Snow, has always thought he was too sour and sullen for his own good, too concerned with what passes for honor among bastards, but Snow has strong hands and a pretty mouth, and it would be a waste for him to run off to the Wall before he's had a chance to put his cock somewhere warmer than his own fist.

Snow takes a long swallow of wine, his face still flushed with embarrassment; Theon watches his throat bob and flutter as he swallows, watches his pink tongue flick out to catch the wine staining the well of his lip. 

He follows Snow upstairs after supper, keeping a few paces behind him, catching Snow's door before it closes properly, pausing for a moment or two before letting himself in. Snow's chamber is a little smaller than Theon's, a good deal smaller than Robb's, and it is fairly sparse, lacking much in the way of anything personal. That fits in with the little Theon actually knows about Snow; he'd never cared for toys or trinkets as a child, had only ever wanted to learn to use a sword, swinging sticks at things before his arm had been strong enough to hold them steady.

A saddlebag waits on the foot of Snow's bed, yawning open around Snow's winter cloak and his spare pair of boots. Theon snorts under his breath; it's just like Snow to pack for his own funeral several days before he is even meant to leave. Theon locks the door behind him, the bolt sliding home with a click that seems to echo off the walls.

"Greyjoy," Snow says, turning as Theon sets the saddlebag on the floor, his pretty mouth twisting sourly. "What do you want here?" 

"I hear you are going to the Wall."

Snow stares at him for a moment, almost frowning, then nods slowly. "I am."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Theon asks. He moves a little closer to Snow, hiding a smile when Snow takes a step back. "Lady Stark has a sharp tongue, but--"

"The Night's Watch is an honorable calling," Snow says darkly, his voice edged like a knife. "Men who take the black serve the realm."

Theon wants to laugh, because that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard. He kisses Snow instead, curving his hands over Snow's jaw and pushing his tongue into Snow's mouth; Snow makes a sharp, startled sound in the back of his throat, digging his fingers into Theon's ribs when Theon nudges him back against the wall. 

"Greyjoy," Snow says, breathless, his face warm and pink. His lips are swollen and wet; Theon can only imagine what they will look like wrapped around his cock. "What--"

"If you need to ask, you are more hopeless than I thought," Theon says, running his hand over the hollow of Snow's throat. "I figure you should use your cock at least once before you lose it to frostbite or have it bitten off by snarks."

"I have--"

"No, you haven't," Theon says, his lips brushing the shell of Snow's ear. "You're too noble to visit the brothel, and too worried about bastards to stick it in one of the serving girls." 

Snow's mouth twists, his eyes narrowing and his forehead creasing, and Theon kisses him again, leaning in before he has a chance to say something stupid or honorable. Snow growls into it, his hands nudging at Theon's chest and his teeth scraping the well of Theon's lip; Theon digs his thumb into the corner of Snow's mouth, prising it open roughly, pressing closer as he pushes his bloody tongue against Snow's. He holds his other hand at Snow's waist, pinning Snow back against the wall, and he lets his cock rub along Snow's hip, smiling into the curve of Snow's jaw when he finds that Snow is hard as well. 

He draws his hand down Snow's chest, brushing it across the front of his breeches, tracing his knuckle over the swelling curve of Snow's cock. Snow gasps quietly, his fingers digging into Theon's arms hard enough to bruise, but his hips strain away from the wall, chasing after Theon's touch, and he pulls Theon closer instead of pushing him away. Theon drags his mouth down to Snow's neck, working a warm, wet bruise into the skin below Snow's ear, and he rubs Snow's cock a little harder, uses the heel of his hand. He'd thought Snow would fight him more about this, but Snow is young yet; Theon would've fucked anybody at Snow's age, probably still would, if he cares to be honest about it.

Snow's breath catches when Theon's hand slips inside his breeches, his body snapping as taut as a bow string, his back arching away from the wall in a long, trembling line. Theon strokes him a few times, his wrist twisting and his thumb brushing over the head, keeps his other hand at Snow's hip as he slides to his knees.

"Have you thought about putting your cock in someone's mouth?" Theon asks, tugging Snow's breeches down past his thighs.

"I -- yes," Snow admits, spots of color blooming on his cheeks.

"Good," Theon says, pressing a kiss to the crease of Snow's hip. "That means you're not dead."

He hasn't had much practice at this; his few experiences with boys have mostly been rutting, just harsh grunts and sweaty hands and kisses with more teeth than tongue, but the slow tremor in Snow's thighs means he won't need much, and it's not like he has anything else to compare it to. His cock pushes on Theon's tongue, stretches Theon's lips, burns a dull ache into Theon's jaw when he takes it in a little too far; he looks up to find Snow watching him, his eyes wide and his mouth open, his breathing ragged and rough, and when Snow finally knots his hand in Theon's hair he tugs slightly, just hard enough to make the heat in Theon's belly twist and curl and flare.

Theon hollows his cheeks, swirls the tip of his tongue over the head of Snow's cock, strokes the flat of it along the ridge underneath, and Snow spends with a sharp, choked noise, his legs shaking and his fingers twisting in Theon's hair. Theon spits as he finds his feet, kissing Snow with the taste of seed still on his lips, but if Snow minds he doesn't show it; he kisses Theon hard, his tongue seeming to seek out every corner of Theon's mouth.

"Come on," Theon says, herding Snow toward the bed. "Sit down."

Snow perches on the edge of the mattress, the ticking sighing quietly under his weight, and Theon tugs Snow's tunic over his head, pulls off his breeches and boots. He strips off his own clothes, dropping them into a messy pile on the floor, then pushes Snow down onto the bed, kissing Snow as he spreads him out and crawls on top of him. Snow's cock is soft, still sensitive, and he whimpers softly as it bumps against Theon's thigh, digs his fingernails into Theon's shoulder as Theon brushes his hand over it. 

Theon pins Snow to the bed with a firm hand on his shoulder, slides a wet kiss up the line of Snow's jaw, sucks a dark red bruise into the hollow of Snow's throat. He threads a hand into Snow's hair, the soft curls twisting around his fingers, and he rubs his cock against Snow's hip, spending hot and thick over Snow's belly and chest, hiding a moan against Snow's skin. He slides down Snow's body as soon as he catches his breath, smiles before he cleans up the mess with slow curls of his tongue.

 

+

 

Theon wakes to near darkness and a warm weight pinning him to an unfamiliar bed. The fire has burned low, hissing and popping as it starts to die, and Theon is confused until he realizes it's Snow snoring into his shoulder. He has never been one for lingering -- he never stays at the brothel longer than it takes to fuck, rarely takes his breeches all the way off when he tumbles the kitchen girls -- but Snow had been hard again by the time Theon had finished cleaning him up, had stared down at Theon with wide eyes, his pretty mouth hanging open, his tongue pink and wet as it had peeked out between his lips.

Theon had brought Snow off with his hand, stroking him hard and fast as he whispered dirty things in his ear, telling him what it felt like to slide his cock into a woman's cunt, to push it between her teats. Snow had twisted underneath him, his back arching and his fingers digging into Theon's arm, had begged Theon to shut his filthy mouth in a way that had sent a new wave of heat rushing under Theon's skin, and Theon had rolled Snow over as soon as he had spent, had rubbed his cock against the soft swell of Snow's arse, his hands bruising into Snow's hips and his teeth at the back of Snow's neck.

Snow is sprawled out along Theon's side, his arm thrown over Theon's waist and his bent knee hooked around Theon's thigh. The sky is listless and black through the window, the moon hidden somewhere above the pane; Snow is hard again, his cock pressing warm and insistent against Theon's hip, and it's late enough that Theon can't see the point in returning to his own chambers. He rolls to the side of the bed, fumbling with the lamp on the table until he can get into the well of oil, has worked two slick fingers into his arse before Snow wakes up long enough to appreciate the sight.

He leans up on his elbow, stares at Theon for a moment with narrow, bleary eyes. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

"I thought we could fuck," Theon says, his breath catching as he slips another finger into his arse, smiling at the way Snow is watching him. "It's easier if we're in the same bed."

Snow snorts out a soft, uneasy laugh, his hand curling lightly over Theon's knee; a strange expression folds over his face, like he is about to say something stupid or noble, so Theon hooks his other hand under Snow's arm and pulls him in for a kiss. Snow overbalances a little, his mouth glancing off Theon's chin, brushing over Theon's jaw; when he finally catches Theon's mouth he moans into it, his tongue nudging at Theon's lips, and Theon slides his fingers out of his arse, strokes the rest of the oil onto Snow's cock. 

Theon hasn't had much practice with this either, has done it just enough to know that he likes it, enjoys the long stretch and burn as long as it comes slowly, easily. If anything Snow is too careful, pushing into him barely an inch at a time, and Theon twists under him, his fingernails biting into Snow's arms, his heels digging into Snow's thighs. Snow's eyes snap open once he's all the way in, his hands shaking as they bruise into Theon's hips; he leans over Theon, sucking in a sharp breath, pressing his hot, open mouth against the hollow of Theon's throat. 

"Move," Theon says, his head tipping back, his hips arching off the bed.

Snow pulls out a little, slides back in with his eyes dark and his lip caught between his teeth. He makes a rough, desperate noise in the back of his throat, a sound that itches at something just underneath Theon's skin, and Theon wraps his hand around his cock, shifting under Snow and tilting his hips until Snow's cock finds the spot that makes the heat in Theon's belly twist and curl. He doesn't think he'll spend this way -- Snow's thrusts are too uneven, and he probably won't last long enough -- but it feels good, Snow's mouth working a wet bruise into the slope of Theon's shoulder, a slow ache burning up through Theon's thighs, and he'd rather not come all over himself if he can do it in Snow's pretty mouth. 

Theon draws his hands down Snow's back, curving them over Snow's arse, pulling Snow closer as he rolls his hips to meet Snow's thrusts. Snow moans into Theon's collarbone, drags his mouth up Theon's neck, sets his teeth to the hinge of Theon's jaw, and he spends with a soft curse and a sharp snap of his hips, his tongue in Theon's mouth and his hand knotted in Theon's hair. He sits up a little as he pulls out, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath; he gives Theon a dark, speculative look when Theon nudges on his shoulder, but Theon just smiles and nudges harder, and Snow slides down the bed, brushes his lips over the head of Theon's cock. 

Snow sucks him in slowly, sloppy and unpracticed but still soft and hot and wet; he swirls his tongue and hollows his cheeks, choking a little when he tries to take too much at once, curling his hand around the base when Theon's hips twitch up off the bed. Theon slides his hand over Snow's jaw, tracing the stretch of Snow's lips with his knuckle, feeling the heat in Snow's face burning under his palm. Snow pulls off and sucks him back in, drawing him in too deep and too fast, and Theon spends with his hand in Snow's hair and Snow's throat fluttering around the head of his cock. 

He rolls over as Snow spits, tugs the furs up over his hip. 

"Greyjoy, you--"

"Go to sleep, Snow."

Theon has never been one to linger, but he figures if he wakes up early enough, he can fuck Snow before they have to go down for breakfast.


End file.
